


Grading on a Curve

by sayyikes



Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Naruto
Genre: F/M, High-School Teacher AU, M/M, Multi Sasori Month 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 22:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30129882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayyikes/pseuds/sayyikes
Summary: “To reiterate,” He addressed his homeroom. “You don’t need to win overall.”The students were a captive audience. For the first time since they’d had the misfortune of landing in Akasuna-sensei’s timetable, there was a glimmer of hope on the horizon. It shone small but bright, in the form of a cardboard donation box near the door. (“I might actually be able to graduate, man.”)“—you just need to beat Haruno’s class.”
Relationships: Haruno Sakura & Sasori, Haruno Sakura/Sasori
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55
Collections: Multi-Sasori





	1. Chapter 1

Extra credit was the white flag of teaching—the indicia that one could be walked over; swayed by poorly dramatized crocodile-tears and the threat of Tiger-parents. It meant that you were a pushover. A tool. Worse yet—it meant that you were _capable of sympathy_. 

So your grandfather died? Your dog went missing? Your student visa expired? What did that matter to him? An unfortunate life or medical crisis did not change the fact that Akasuna Sasori graded tests the day they were sat, and that day only. You miss it, you miss it. You bomb it, you bomb it. Maybe you’ll be less blighted in your next life, but in the here-and-now, you earn the marks you deserve, and in his approximation, these students deserved very few. 

( _An extension because you were hospitalized? People get appendicitis everyday, Sarutobi. Next time, plan ahead._ )

“But what about—”

He didn’t give extra credit for the same reason he didn’t feed pigeons in the park. Dirty, squawking creatures lacking the wherewithal to fight for their own better interests were not owed aid from higher beings. If they had time to revel in filthy water and engage in ill-fated pubescent courtship rituals, their ignorance of hydrogen bonds rested solely on their own gormless shoulders. Not his. 

No. Sasori did not give extra credit.

But there were some things that eclipsed even his miserly pride. Surpassed the self-righteous need to deny these sweaty vectors of Axe-body spray anything that might be mistaken as an extension of goodwill. Certain exceptions that demanded he put aside his most pivotal axiom.

And thwarting the pink-haired biology teacher **qualified.**

“To reiterate,” He addressed his homeroom. “You don’t need to win _overall_.”

His students were a captive audience. For the first time since they’d had the misfortune of landing in Akasuna-sensei’s timetable, there was a glimmer of hope on the horizon. It shone small but bright, in the form of a cardboard donation box near the door. (“I might actually be able to graduate, man.”)

_“—you just need to beat Haruno’s class.”_

(At her seat in the front row, Hanabi death gripped a mechanical pencil. She needed to call her father’s manservant immediately and verify the security code on the back of his credit card. _If I can get rid of that 88,_ She calculated, brow furrowed and veins bulging. _I can still make high honors..._ )

“But Sakura-sensei’s class already has like, four hundred cans!” Udon squalled. “We have—” (“Three pouches of tuna.”)—three pouches of tuna! And _that’s_ only because Inari doesn’t like the lunch his mom packs!”

There were chitters of agreement. How could they ever, in a million years, beat the homeroom next door? Was it even possible to overtake Bio’s already massive lead? How often did Inari’s mom purchase groceries?

Sasori casually took attendance at his desk. Mm. He had anticipated their weak-wills. Pathetic, grubby, handout-seeking mouth breathers. But. He could bend their desperation to suit his purposes, nonetheless.

“Know that this is a one-time offer.” He said. _The lure._ “One grade dropped.” Though, logistically speaking, some of these kids were so abysmally in the red, they would need much more to make anything worth their while. 

Reluctantly, he lowered the barrier to entry. “Lab write-up _or_ **_exam._** ” 

The murmurs intensified. And he watched as their smooth-brained minds ran amok with the possibilities of his proposition. A few students started to look vaguely admiring. Thick-skulled moppets. Like the five pitiful, vinegar-wine grade points he proffered was enough to save them from certain death. (“I might be on the Dean’s List this semester!”) They were getting the wrong idea... 

“None of you deserve this.” The red-haired man said. There was a need to assure them that this was not an act of kindness. 

But the manna from heaven was too blessed to allow him to convey his contempt properly. “We’ll try our best!” Moegi bubbled. And the smattering of like-minded Pollyanna’s around her nodded furiously.

“Ah,” Their red-haired teacher grabbed a piece of chalk. Today's chapter topic was calorimetry. _Enthralling._ “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this dumb idea volleying around my head ever since I doodled some [ SasoSaku high-school AU art. ](https://sayyikes.tumblr.com/post/639549741252870144/hs-teacher-au-aka-does-sasori-own-khakis)  
> And I thought, "yes, this can be shoehorned into the MultiSasoriMonth College AU/Test prompt. Who's going to stop me" 
> 
> Anyway, send bail money.


	2. Chapter 2

“I need to ask for a favor.” Sakura announced, her voice conveying all the joyless reticence of someone who’d just walked into a sliding glass door. She toed the unspoken demilitarized zone between their two classrooms, dignity smarting and arms crossed.

The red-haired man leveled her with a look of irritation and disinterest. 

“Well, I don’t know why you’re telling me.” He groused. 

**_“Can Uchiha-sensei please come down to the office? Can Uchiha-sensei please come down to the office? Thank you.”_ **

One of the man’s spindly hands reached for the doorknob, and panic spurred Sakura to hasten her negotiations. 

“Academic Decathlon requires **_two_ ** teacher sponsors.” She laid out. 

_“No.”_

“Please,” Sakura’s teeth were clenched. “No one else is available.” Neji was overbooked with lacrosse, Shino’s robotics club was already knee-deep in competitions, lunch ladies apparently didn’t count, and the last name she’d fudged for the school mascot costume hadn’t been subtle enough to escape Shikamaru’s detection.

The unhappy man across from her was Sakura’s very last resort. Her do-or-die; her emergency ballpoint-pen-intubation on an international flight. It peeved her to even have to consider him as an option—! But when the Rose-Colored Glory Days Rental Company™ is out of mid-sized sedans; when all it can offer you is a spangly unicycle and collision insurance, then galdarn, you put aside your atavistic fear of clowns, honk on a little red nose, and _make it flipping work_.

 _“Please,”_ She gritted out once more. _“It’s for the kids.”_

Sasori stared blankly at her; tilted his head a millimeter. “I mean, if it’s for the kids…” He considered. 

—Then let the door shut soundly in her face.

Sakura swung her zip reel at it. 

“Fine!” She huffed. 

_Stupid scholastic rulebook…_ Why must they make it so difficult? Why couldn’t one singular, well-meaning, and intellectually bloodthirsty teacher be enough? She could assuredly fill the role of both supervisors—this sociologically insensitive, nuclear family hang-up was the product of days gone by, an artifact. A disservice. And if she didn’t hold them to godlike standards, those rulebook committee members would be getting a _seething_ letter, so help her.

The pink-haired woman sank against the wall. Stared down the old-as-dirt poster of the periodic table. 

_Stupid alkaline-earth metals._

(That was unfair, she was letting her frustration get the better of her. Alkaline-earth metals were arguably very important, and homeostatically necessary, and, uh yeah, would have made damn-good decathlon study material, _dang it dang it dang it)._

 **_“I apologize, can Uchiha_ ** **_Itachi_** ** _-sensei please come down to the office?”_ ** The intercom specified. **_“Uchiha Itachi-sen— (“Oi, Sasuke, think quick!” *Thwomp*) —sei, can you please come to the office? Thank you.”_ **

Sakura swung her zip reel again in frustration. 

“That’s fine, give up before we’ve even started!” She accused through the ventilation grate of Sasori’s door.

_Beryllium._

“Let Kumo win!” 

_Magnesium—or Manganese? No, no, Magnesium._

“Let _Oto_ win!”

_Calcium._

“We probably wouldn’t have been able to beat Orochimaru’s team anyway…” 

_Strontium. Barium._

_Radium._

There was a creaking sound.

—Sakura forwent reciting the transition metals to chance a look—

One ochre eye peered out at her. ( _Mordor,_ she thought.)

Sasori said nothing. 

Just peered. 

Was he…could he be…? The pink-haired woman opened her mouth. Closed it. Then finally lamented: “I wrote down ‘Kurama Amaurk’.”

This statement only wrought confusion, a brief moment of flappability in an otherwise imperturbable facade. The Sauron eye narrowed, but, encouragingly, didn’t recede from view.

“Can you…do Wednesdays?” Sakura tread lightly.

Please. Please. 

_Pleeeease._

**_“I apologize to everyone for these continued interruptions. This is the snafu of snafus— (“What about a dunk tank, ‘ttebayo?” “I swear to god—”) But could Uchiha_ ** **_Shisui_** ** _-sensei please come down to the office? I repeat, Uchiha_ ** **_Shisui_** ** _-sensei. Thank you all for your patience.”_ **

Sasori took his time peering some more.

Scrutinized a bit. 

“We’re not doing it in my room.” He said finally.

_SheCouldExplodeSheWasSoHappy._

Sakura furled up the sponsorship packet she was clutching and put it to her mouth.

“I don’t care if we have to do it on the floor!” She trumpeted through the ad-hoc megaphone. “I don’t care if we have to do it in the frigging parking lot!” 

The chemistry door slammed shut again.

Sakura remained ecstatic.

“Sign this!” She instructed, stuffing the decathlon paperwork through the grate. (The action itself was fairly familiar. Sasori’s grate was her preferred method of disposing of duds when the Xerox-machine did a less than stellar job photocopying and her own recycling bin was full.) An unseen force on the opposite side of the door pulled the packet the remainder of the way though. 

_We’re going to have a team! We’re going to have a team! We’re going to wallop everyone because we’re going to have—_ Oh!

“There’s also a small stipend,” Sakura shared exuberantly, suddenly best friends with the laminated posters on the wall—witnesses to her eleventh-hour turnabout. _Yeah, you thought,_ She boasted to the periodic table. “It’s mentioned on page three or four or something.”

The shuffling sound of papers sounded through the grate.

“Hm,” Came Sasori’s muffled deadpan. “I’ll finally be able to get that paperclip I’ve been saving up for.” 

It didn’t even matter—he was just a warm body as far as she was concerned. Gosh, there was so much adrenaline coursing through her right now! She jumped up and down, shaking her arms. _Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, one-two-punch—_ (Honestly, she probably looked like a lunatic to any students who were still milling about after dismissal.) _We’ll need binders, and a study plan, and subject matter experts, and at least the last five years’ essay prompts and and and—_

_HISSSSSSS!_

The noise nearly stopped her heart. She turned to see a can of compressed air wedged in the gap. 

“Get away from my door.” Sasori said. And he threw the signed packet into the hallway before retreating back to his cave.

Sakura collected the papers off the ground.

Did he piss her off? _A thousand times yes._ But just this once, she would rejoice in his curmudgeonly ways. Because with this seemingly innocent sheaf of bureaucratic formality, she could finally return to the arena of her adolescence. To the spirit-crushing grindhouse of rapid-fire academic pursuit, where being a know-it-all was praiseworthy and your enemies could be out-memorized. 

_Alright!_ She was fired up. _Now all I need are some minions!_


End file.
